


Conversations in the Cold

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the start of a semi-regular late-night occurrence; Regan can't sleep.  Takes place in Haven – some in-game dialog included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations in the Cold

It was the middle of the night, why was she still awake? Regan sighed, pushing herself away from the desk. She picked up the book she’d been pretending to read and slipped through the open cell door. She moved silently up the steps and slipped out of the Chantry, thankful that the large doors were relatively silent as they opened and closed. She made her way through the camp and out the main gate with no trouble, for once thankful for the green glow of the Breach and the mark on her hand, as they made it much easier to see at night. She made her way to the dock, tripping only once as she passed the soldiers’ tents. With a quiet sigh, she sat and tried to focus on the book again, ignoring the cold air.

Cullen bolted upright, hearing a muttered curse just outside his tent as a faint green glow moved past. Josephine had offered to procure a fourth bed in the Chantry, though the room she, Leliana and Cassandra shared was already rather crowded. He’d turned her down. It was better that he remain with the troops he was training, let them know they were all the same and all that. Also, sharing a room with three women was just … no; he remembered what his sisters and their friends were like and couldn’t fathom being stuck trying to sleep amongst that. He was, however, granted his own tent, so he didn’t disturb anyone as he went to investigate. At first, he thought he’d just been imagining things; there was no one in sight as he stepped out into the snow, tugging his fur-collared surcoat on. Then, he noticed the soft green glow in the distance, close to the lake, so he headed down. 

If she’d been smarter, she would have brought a blanket, or made a fire, or just stayed in bed. But she hadn’t; instead, Regan just curled herself into the smallest ball she could and read, using the mark on her hand to illuminate the pages. She heard the crunch of snow as she hunched over the book but didn’t bother looking around. It was probably just an animal – the druffalo that roamed the area would occasionally venture to this side of the lake, though not often.

Cullen was never known for his silent approach, and that night was no exception. While the snow muffled most of his movement, it couldn’t muffle the loud snap of small branches scattered on the dock as he stepped on them. That noise got a reaction. She jumped, dropping her book onto the ice below. He couldn’t stop a faint chuckle from escaping at her reaction. She always seemed so collected; it was almost refreshing to see her caught off guard. The amusement was short-lived, however, as a small blade went flying by his head, missing his cheek by less than an inch.

“Oh, Andraste’s balls!” Regan scrambled to her feet as soon as she realized who it was. “I am so sorry. I didn’t get you, did I? Please tell me I actually missed. I have never wanted to be told I missed this badly.” Her book forgotten for the moment, she darted to his side, worried. Never mind the fact that he’d been sneaking up on her. She’d just thrown a knife at the commander of the Inquisition’s forces. What little goodwill she’d managed to accrue with Cassandra would surely be thrown out if she actually managed to hurt him. 

“I’m fine, Herald,” he laughed, trying to actually look fine. His heart had practically jumped to his throat the moment that blade flew by and his pulse was still racing, for an entirely different reason. “You did miss.” He was thankful that the temperature could be blamed for the color that filled his cheeks as her fingers brushed against his skin, looking for any damage. He reached up to still her frantically searching hand and gestured back toward the edge of the dock. He noticed she smelled of peppermint, like those little candies his grandmother used to make. It suited her.

She blushed as his fingers curled around hers, wishing she could turn back time just enough so that she could avoid attempting to attack him. She finally made herself step away and led him back to where she had been sitting. “Sorry about that,” she sheepishly apologized again as she dropped back down to sit, releasing his hand and letting her legs hang off the edge.

“Completely my fault,” he replied, sitting next to her, leaning against the post behind him so he could face her. “I should have started announcing my presence as soon as I was within throwing distance.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you should do in the middle of the night,” Regan laughed, shaking her head. She ran her fingers through her short hair, brushing the few stray strands long enough to be a nuisance away from her eyes. 

“Couldn’t sleep, I take it?” Cullen asked, relaxing as she nodded. “Is it your arm?”

“No, that’s fine. Whatever that foul smelling concoction you used was worked like a charm. I don’t think there’ll even be any scarring.” She shoved the sleeve of her tunic up, revealing a barely there line and little else; she had taken off the bandage as soon as she’d reached her … room. “I just … it’s hard to sleep when your room is little more than a cell.” 

He wanted to reach out and run his fingers along her arm. He could use the excuse he was checking out the injury. He reached out, just barely letting his fingers touch her skin, and stopped. “Your room is a cell?” he asked, stunned. She was no longer a prisoner; why would she be sleeping in a cell? “I thought Cassandra said …”

“Oh, she’s said plenty about me not being a prisoner anymore,” Regan sighed, watching his hand out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t mind the contact; his touch was much gentler than she’d expected. “But she says there are no empty rooms available elsewhere. And the room the three of them share is already so cramped I couldn’t imagine trying to squeeze another bed in. So they tried to make the cell not feel like a cell – gave me a library’s worth of books, propped open the door, gave me the key in case the door managed to shut. But there’s only so much you can do, short of tearing out the bars, to make a cell not feel like jail.” She shrugged faintly, looking out over the frozen lake. “I haven’t gone hunting through the whole place, but from what I have seen, she’s right. I just … It’s creepy down there.” She couldn’t stop the sudden shudder at the thought of being in the dungeon again. “I thought I could handle it, but …”

“Maker’s breath woman, where’s your cloak?” Cullen was startled to realize she was out in the cold and snow without anything more than a tunic and trousers. He was also stunned to realize that it had taken him this long to notice. What kind of gentleman was he? “Here, take this.” He started to shrug out of his surcoat, the furred collar tickling his nose. The least he could do is give her something else to put between herself and the cold. 

“But then you’ll be left in the cold.” Regan stopped him with a gentle shake of her head. “I’ll be fine. Wouldn’t be the first time I was out in the snow with barely anything on.” 

“Now that … ahem … sounds like there’s a story behind it,” Cullen laughed, trying his best not to let his mind wander. It wouldn’t be appropriate in the slightest, would it? “But that … image aside, my lady, Cassandra would have my hide if I let you catch a chill out here.” He was proud of himself; there was almost no catch in his speech, for once. He was painfully aware how much he stumbled on his words around her; the simple fact that he was able to get two sentences out without more than a pause was a step forward. “Come here, you.” He pulled one arm free from the surcoat and held it open, motioning for her to scoot closer. If she wouldn’t simply take his surcoat, the least he could do was help keep her warm.

“If you insist,” she murmured, slowly moving toward him. She begged her heart to stay in her chest; she could feel her pulse racing already. He was an attractive man, kinder than she’d expected, and while she found it easy to be calm and flirty when she had an audience, being alone with him was another matter entirely. She had no way to deflect anything, no handy excuse for a stray glance or touch or smile. She held herself stiffly as he draped the fabric over her shoulder and tried to maneuver his arm back to his side. It might have been easier had she not been close to his own height. As it was, the shifting was awkward, but they finally managed.

“So …” Cullen started, scrambling to fill the silence with something other than awkwardness. He was almost hyper-aware of her presence next to him, the faint pressure of her shoulder against his as she leaned, ever so slightly, against him. Her hands were folded in her lap as he crossed his arms over his chest. He needed to say or do something, quickly, or he was going to explode from awkward. “Care to tell me why you decided to brave the cold without a cloak? I … Cassandra would be quite put out with you if you made yourself sick.”

She smiled faintly, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. There was no reason to be nervous; it was just Cullen, right? Just the Commander, sitting next to her, sharing  
his surcoat, talking to her out here, alone. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Commander,” Regan finally replied in a voice barely above a whisper, “but I have a tendency to not think things through, sometimes.” She looked up at the sky and tried to peer past the green glow of the Breach. She wanted to see the stars again. “I kind of forgot that it’d be so cold, honestly. Besides, like I said before; it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I do seem to remember you mentioning that,” he chuckled, uncrossing his arms to rub the back of his neck. He was sure he was blushing. The heat in his cheeks and the back of his neck was unmistakable. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering as he prompted her, desperately wanting details while not wanting to sound like he wanted them. “Care to elaborate?”

Regan grinned, glad to have something to talk about. While she was cold, his surcoat and presence made the weather tolerable, almost enjoyable. And she didn’t want it to end before it had to. “It was a few years ago,” she began, swinging her legs absentmindedly. “I had gone to visit my brother in Ostwick’s circle in the middle of winter – my mother’s idea. She insisted that I would be too busy once the weather warmed up to make the trip. Honestly, I think she was just tired of catching me in the training grounds after hours. And I’m sure she was hoping I’d make enough of an impression to be invited back to re-start templar training.”

“Training grounds?” he asked, surprised. For some reason, he hadn’t put much thought into how she’d honed her skills. They weren’t the typical sort he’d had experience with. “Restart templar training?”

“I’m really not naturally gifted at what I do, Commander. It’s taken a lot of practice.” She grinned, looking over at him. She found him looking back at her, and for a moment, neither said a word. Her gaze darted from his eyes, to his lips and back again; she felt her heart skip a beat. 

He thought he was just being polite, looking at her as she spoke. But then she shifted, looked right at him, and he froze. He watched her tongue slip out and lick her lips right before she bit her lower lip, then ripped his gaze back to her eyes, thinking it was safer. It wasn’t. He found himself lost momentarily, finding all the little color variances in those violet eyes – no, not violet, exactly. Was that even a color eyes could come in? He thought he could make out a hint of another color around her pupils, but that might have just been the dim light.

She finally tore her gaze away, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him. He was the commander of the inquisition’s forces – someone in charge. She shouldn’t … should she? Maybe she should just get back to the story. “I … my …”. Maker take it all, she couldn’t get her thoughts straight. She took a deep breath and looked at the sky. That would help, right? “I’m the youngest of five,” she resumed, fighting to keep focused. “Three brothers, one sister. One brother is a mage. My sister is married to some noble off in the Marches, I’m not sure which one anymore. One brother, the oldest, joined the templars and the other, the youngest one, went to Ferelden to join the king’s army there. Not really sure how a Marcher would be allowed to join Ferelden’s army, but he managed. He used to constantly write about the mabari there. I think he secretly wanted to adopt an entire litter.

“When we were growing up, I’d spend more time on the training grounds with my brothers than anything else, especially after they took Gabriel to the circle. Even after everyone seemed to go their own ways, I was out on the fields, taking lessons from whomever I could find, and that included some less than savory types.” Regan shrugged slightly, briefly distracted by the pressure of his shoulder against hers again. “Mother … was always sure I was behaving less than appropriately with them, when in fact, I was just learning how to use whatever weapons I could manage. It didn’t help that I was nine shades of clumsy when it came to using a shield. She thought that the only effective fighters used either a shield, or a weapon taller than they were.”

“Your mother was a fool,” Cullen murmured, shaking his head. In just that small amount of time on the hill, he’d noticed her skill with two smaller blades - she had been able to take out the more heavily armored man on the hill with relative ease, after all. 

She nodded softly, wondering if she should at least pretend to take offence at the insult to her mother. She didn’t disagree, though, and just went on with the story. “At any rate, I’d gone to visit Gabriel at the circle in the dead of winter. While Ostwick is typically warm, winter is an unforgiving time, and there was a lot of snow. The second evening I was there, Gabriel and I decided it’d be fun to have a snowball fight.

“Ostwick’s circle was far less restrictive than a lot of the others, and the mages were actually allowed to go outside, though they still needed to at least ask for permission from the First Enchanter or Knight Commander. They had this wonderfully huge walled-in courtyard that they allowed mages and templars, and their guests, to use. In the spring, it was full of flowers. In the winter, it was full of snow. So we – along with a few apprentices and some templar trainees - were out having a snowball fight. I had a cloak on at first, and decided I wanted to be sneaky and take the mages by surprise. So I draped it over a small tree – in the shadows it looked enough like a person that I thought it’d be useful. Then I started skulking around until I got behind one of them. Or, at least I thought it was one of them. I’d just dumped a handful of snow down the person’s back when I realized everyone was staring, and I mean everyone.”

Cullen listened, entranced. He watched her hands start moving, illustrating points and hiding her face at times. He smiled as she grew more animated the longer she spoke. He heard the faint nuances in her accent that gave away her marcher origins. He avoided her eyes, but watched as her face lit up, talking about her brother and the snowball fight. “I assume it was someone else?” he ventured, fighting the urge to laugh.

“It wasn’t just someone else,” she groaned, covering her eyes. “It was the First Enchanter!” She hung her head and laughed. “You should have seen her face. Apparently she wondered where her people had disappeared to – most of them hadn’t gotten permission to come outside, so she was less than thrilled.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the mages and templars all got shuffled back inside. Gabriel wrote me later to tell me that each one had been given extra chores as punishment. He got hit worst of all – cleaning the chamber pots, all the chamber pots, in the tower … for a week, since it had been our idea. As for me, I was escorted out, without the chance to grab my cloak, and made to wait on the steps for the next carriage … which didn’t show up for hours. So I was stuck out in the cold, with nothing but a snow-soaked linen shirt and trousers. I did decide to wait in the stables eventually; it was barely warmer there.” She couldn’t help but laugh. That’d trip had not quite worked out the way her mother had wanted. Instead of relenting and resuming her templar training, the Knight-Commander all but demanded she only return with someone who could reign in her impulses. 

They had been talking for over an hour when she realized that it was nice having someone to talk to again, even if the person did make her nervous, in a good way. It was something she hadn’t had the last several years at home once most of her siblings had gone. If it wasn’t so cold, she was pretty sure she would have fallen into a comfortable slumber. As it was, she finally decided that heading back to bed was a good idea. She was going to speak with the templars in the morning, and still wanted to get Solas’ opinion on the contraptions they had discovered earlier, and she really needed to be rested. “I … should let you get back to sleep.” Her voice was soft, almost reluctantly speaking words she didn’t particularly want to say.

Cullen didn’t want to move. Despite the cold, he was surprised to find that he was comfortable with her leaning against him. The only thing that would make it better was possibly having his arm around her instead of pinned to his side. But she was right, wasn’t she? “You … you as well, my lady,” he replied, swallowing nervously as he felt her hand brush against his leg when she shifted. “You … you will have a long day tomorrow, if you plan to meet with the templars.” He was secretly glad she’d decided to approach the templars rather than the mages. Word from Redcliff was less than encouraging and he was sure Ferelden’s king would be less than thrilled with their meddling. 

“What can you tell me about Templars?” she asked, doing her best to delay the inevitable trip back to her room. “I mean, I know you don’t really know what they’re doing now. Maker, I’d be surprised if they even know what they’re doing. But, in general … like, why’d you join the order?”

As much as he knew they should both be sleeping, he was grateful she seemed to be attempting to prolong the evening. He enjoyed sitting here with her. “I … I could think of no better calling than to protest those in need,” he explained. “I used to beg the templars at Honneleath’s Chantry to teach me. At first, they merely humored me – showing me skills any boy could use. But, I must have shown promise … or at least a willingness to learn. The knight-captain eventually spoke to my parents on my behalf; he convinced them to send me for training. I was … thirteen when I left home.

“Thirteen?” Regan was stunned. Aaron hadn’t joined the templars until he was almost sixteen, and she was pretty sure he only joined because it made their mother happy. “That’s so young!” She couldn’t imagine leaving home at thirteen, though Gabriel had only been ten when he was taken to the Circle. Luckily, her family’s position, and the leniency of the Knight Commander at Ostwick’s circle, meant that he could still receive visits from family. She and Tristan had visited him as often as possible.

“I wasn’t the youngest one there, honestly. Some children are even promised to the order at infancy.” He was glad his parents hadn’t gone that route. As much as he had wanted to be a templar as a child, it had still been his choice. To be told that your life was already planned out for you, no matter what you wanted, would have been hell. “Even still, I didn’t take on full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The order would rather see one trained and educated first.” Tentatively, he shifted his arm, moving it to wrap around her, hand coming to rest on her hip. When she didn’t pull away, he exhaled, trying to calm his nerves.

“Did you miss your family?” she asked quietly, allowing him to pull her slightly closer. Maker, why did this feel so right, so safe? She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed softly. “Did you write them? Were they at least able to visit you? Did they visit you?”

He was stunned – she didn’t pull away. She didn’t tell him to move his arm, his hand! She’d actually moved closer! He could have passed it off as a search for warmth, but then she rested her head on his shoulder and made such a cute little contented noise. His heart was beating so loudly, he could swear they would hear it in the Chantry. “I … um, I … yes, I … did miss them,” he finally got out. “My older sister would sometimes bring the others, but they could never stay overlong. Thankfully, there were many others my age who felt the same, and not all of them had family that would come by. We learned to look out for one another. We sort of … became a family for each other.”

“So, I know what the typical templar opinion of mages is, or at least I think I do. It’s not hard to tell what some of the templars here think. But what do you think of mages? Are they all a threat?” She fidgeted slightly; wished the part of her that worried about his answer would shut up. She wasn’t a mage, but she did have family that was. She didn’t want to have to risk coming between the two, if it ever came down to that. Why was she even thinking about that; wasn’t that kind of like putting the cart before the horse?

Cullen sighed, closing his eyes. Maker, he’d been such a different person for so long. “I … I’ve seen the suffering magic can inflict on others,” he admitted, his free hand clenching into a fist. “I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it, at times without cause. That was … unworthy of me.” He shifted, hand sliding lightly up her side as he moved to look at her. He was careful not to let it drift too far in any direction. “I will try not to do so here. Not that I want mages moving through our base completely unchecked, mind you. We need safeguards in place to protect people, including mages, from possession at the very least.” He wasn’t sure how she would take that. Would she agree? Or would she be angry that he still wanted mages watched, even after everything that had happened?

“I … I think you’re right.” Regan was quiet, unsure if she was betraying her brother or not. But then again, he’d always said he liked being in the circle, even with the templars. “I mean, the cities have their guards to protect people. Templars really are kind of like that, or at least, they should be. That’s what Aaron always said, anyway.” Her eldest brother always spoke so proudly of becoming a templar. “I just … I know some templars abuse their authority, just like some guards do.” Rarely was she comfortable enough with someone to discuss her view on the whole mage/templar subject; it was often such a divisive topic that she usually just bit her tongue, and she worried for both brothers stuck in the middle of it. “What does templar training involve, once you’ve been there for more than a month, anyway?”

Cullen was surprised to hear that she agreed, even somewhat. He’d seen the dangers of over-policing mages, but he’d also seen the dangers of being far too lax. There had to be a middle point, didn’t there? “More than a month?” That was a strange time frame. He wondered about the preciseness of it. “There is weapon and combat training, a lot of it, in fact. Even without their extra abilities, templars are among the best soldiers in Thedas. Initiates must also memorize portions of the Chant of Light, study history, and improve their mental focus.”

Regan made a face. “Maybe it’s a good thing I never made it far. I don’t think I would have been able to take the history.” She shifted, snuggling a bit closer, reaching to gently pull his hand around so he held her tighter. This was … nice. “Did you enjoy the training?”

He felt his ears and cheeks burning. Not only had she not moved away or pushed his hand aside, she was keeping him close. Maker, she felt so … right, nestled against him. It took a moment for anything she said to register; he pretty much missed the first thing she’d said in his elation, but managed to catch her question. “I wanted to learn everything.  
If I was giving my life to the order, I would be the best templar I could be.”

“So you were a model student then?” Somehow, that wouldn’t surprise her. He’d struck her as someone who would follow the rules, make something of himself. But there had to be something lurking beneath, didn’t there? Someone who stuck to the rules wouldn’t be so … so … something.

He laughed, burying his nose in her hair for a moment. She smelled like snow and crisp mountain air, but there was something else faint … was that peppermint? Hadn’t he noticed that before as well? “I wanted to be, though I wasn’t always successful.” He shrugged gently, trying not to dislodge her head from his shoulder. “Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfiguration wasn’t the most exciting task. I admit, my mind sometimes … wandered.”

“Wandered where, I wonder,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Do templars take vows? ‘I swear to the Maker to watch all mages’ … you know, that sort of thing?” She hadn’t paid a lot of attention in the short time she was a recruit, and from the way he spoke, it was probably a good thing. She didn’t think she would have made a very good templar.

He opted not to answer her first question, knowing that his mind would have likely never been on the Chant if she had been present during his training. “There are vows, but there is a vigil first. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change.” Maker, the rumors that spread in Kirkwall about things happening to templar recruits had been such a headache. Why had no one believed the truth? “When it’s over, you pledge yourself to a life of service. As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.”

“A life of service and sacrifice, hmm?” She shook her head, though it came across more as an awkward nuzzling of his shoulder. “Are templars also expected to give up … physical temptation?” Regan had no clue why that had suddenly popped out. She was so relaxed with him, so comfortable …. Could there be the possibility of something more? He wasn’t a templar any longer, he said, but if he’d taken those vows, would he still stick with them?

Why was she asking this? Where had that question come from? “Physical?” he repeated, voice catching in his throat. “Why …um, why would you ….” Maker’s breath, he’d been doing so well. Why couldn’t he think straight all of a sudden? “That’s not expected,” he finally managed to get out. “Templars can marry, although there are rules around it, and the order must grant permission. Some may choose to give up … more to prove their devotion, but it’s … um … not required.”

“Have you?” she asked softly. Her eyes were fluttering closed; she was finally getting tired. The warmth of his surcoat, the pressure of his body against hers, the sound of his voice … it all made for a very soothing combination. Maker, this was so nice.

Did she just ask … Maker’s breath, she did! Had she meant to ask it? He thought she sounded tired. Maybe she hadn’t intended to say anything? But she had. Was she expecting a response? Did she want one? What did it matter? Why did she want to know? Could it be she ...? It had been so long since he’d been with … been interested in …. No, surely not; he was misreading signals, right? “Me? I … um, no … I ….” Blast it all, he was stumbling over his words again. She had him so flustered; his entire face had to be bright red. It burned so fiercely, she had to be able to feel the heat of his embarrassment where she sat. “I’ve taken no such vows.” Was she smiling? Why did it feel like she was smiling? Andraste save him, there were new knots in his stomach. “Maker’s breath, can we please speak of something else?”

“I wish you could come with me to meet them – the templars, I mean,” she sighed, deciding she had tortured him enough for one night. Besides, his answer had given her even more butterflies, and if she didn’t shut up soon, she was going to say or do something embarrassing. She used his leg for support as she stood, her book forgotten in the snow. “I’d feel better about this whole thing if I had someone who actually knew what they were about, rather than …” She left that thought hanging as she realized she didn’t know who was coming with her in the morning. The group never actually discussed it. Some of them would need to stay behind to deal with reoccurring issues in the Hinterlands, and even in Haven. Trebuchets needed to be repaired; Cullen was insistent on being able to defend the Inquisition headquarters, no matter what. And knowing the rebel mages were nearby made for a very nervous Commander.

Cullen nodded quietly, moving to his feet only after he was sure she was steady. He tried to will the blush away; as grateful as he was for the reprieve after that embarrassment, he didn’t want the time with her to end. He removed his surcoat, draping it over her shoulders as they made their way toward the gates. “I’ll see you to the Chantry door, at least, my lady.” He wasn’t about to let her walk alone in the cold; it just wouldn’t be gentlemanly. “And if I thought my duties here would allow it, I would join you. But the recruits need to be put through their paces, and it appears I am the only one Cassandra trusts after what happened during our escapade to the Hinterlands.”

“You can call me Regan, you know.” She hated the way ‘my lady’ sounded almost as much as ‘Herald of Andraste’, though coming from him, it wasn’t quite as annoying. “And thank you for listening to me for so long. I … enjoyed the company.” She snuggled into his surcoat, inhaling deeply when she noticed how the fur seemed to retain his scent. 

“As did I,” he replied, smiling happily. He was glad the fur collar was so large; it helped block her view so he felt less embarrassed about how pleased he was to spend time with her. He had made several mental notes of things he wanted to ask later, things she had passed off as unimportant details during her story. She had gone through at least some templar training, she’d said. He was quite curious about that, as well as wanting to know more about her family, and about her in general. 

When they finally reached the Chantry doors, she reluctantly slipped out of his surcoat, draping it over his shoulders as she kissed his cheek. “Thank you again, Commander.”

“It’s Cullen, my la – Regan.” He wished his cheeks weren’t burning, and prayed he could keep his voice even. “If I … you… If I am to call you by your first name, I would extend the same courtesy to you.” He was stalling. He shouldn’t be stalling. He should simply say goodnight and return to his tent. There were training exercises to go through in the morning. He should go. 

“Fair enough … Cullen.” Her voice was soft, tentative, as if she was trying out the name. She didn’t want to acknowledge the tiny chills that shot down her spine hearing him say her name. There was no reason just the sound of her name should affect her so, was there? “I will see you in the morning, before we set out. Good night.” Before she could do anything further to embarrass herself, she disappeared into the Chantry, doing her best not to sprint back down to her makeshift room.

He stood there a moment, watching the doors close behind her. The simple act of hearing her say his name should not have affected him, and certainly not have caused his stomach to tie itself in nervous knots. But it had. He wanted to hear her say it again and again. His cheeks were burning, though the spot where she’d kissed felt like an entirely different sort of fire. What was going on? Why was he suddenly feeling this way. He needed to go to bed. He was tired, that’s all.


End file.
